They coaxed and bullied their sonatas, concerti, cantatas, and fugues to a more acute state of perfection than they had ever pushed the most important recital piece. If they had once been sculptors, now they were diamond cutters. On her best days, Daphne felt as if the cello were her Siamese twin, joined to her body at her left ear, where its neck thrummed under the dictate of her fingers, and at the tenderest part of her thigh, where its voice rose from the hollow of its belly. When Natalya finally escorted them to the Silo, to rehearse in the open air, Daphne discovered how much more care and diligence she had to lavish on strings and bow, which sagged in complaint at the humidity. That final week, they hammered down every segue in Carnival of the Animals until it resembled the perfectly rotating carousel that Natalya had asked them to envision, each creature passing before the listener with equal pageantry. Thursday, she released them at ten-thirty. She instructed them to leave their instruments in the studio—no overnight obsessing allowed—and to sleep late in the morning.
What do You think about And The Dark Sacred Night?
